


Devil's Night

by gimmefire



Category: Green Day, The Network
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-24
Updated: 2004-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2002, shortly after a show, the boys are sitting in their tour bus, drinking away. Then Mike says something that's gonna change the next 48 hours for him - and give birth to a certain red devil out for trouble and excitement...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Night

Billie scowled, glaring down into his lap and sinking low in his seat, affecting the posture of an embittered, disciplined child. Laughter rang in his hears, and his scowl deepened. His bottom lip jutted out in an indignant pout. Yes, Billie Joe was well and truly sulking.

Mike chucked, swigging his beer and having no sympathy for his bandmate.

"You're only pouting because you know it's true and you have nothing to say to it," Mike said smugly, raising an eyebrow.

"It is not fucking true!" Billie replied, glaring up at him.

"Yes it is."

"Is not!!"

Mike shifted in his seat and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, pointing at him. "Ok, if it isn't true, name me one crazy thing you've done on this tour."

Billie's eyes dropped to the table, thinking.

"Told you. There's nothing, is there?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking."

Mike folded his arms, looking at Billie expectantly. Tré stifled a snigger. Billie's eyes flicked up, briefly scanning the faces turned towards him, all with amused grins. Mike, Tré, their tour manager, their driver, all looking at him, waiting for an answer. Billie's eyes returned to the table, and he seemed to sink even lower in his seat. "Ah, fuck off." he mumbled petulantly.

The amused grin on Mike's face turned into an absolutely shit-eating one. He cackled. "Ahahaha! I told you! You haven't done one crazy thing on this whole tour! What happened to the tv-throwing, chandelier-swinging, fire-extinguisher-letting-off, streaking Billie?" Mike asked, then turned to the assembled, holding court in a fine way. "I'll tell you all what happened to him..."

Mike looked out of the corner of his eye at Billie, who was still slouching, but now had a dark glare shadowing his face that was aimed squarely his way. Mike chuckled, revelling in the hatred being silently projected at him. He leaned one elbow on the table, leaning over close to Billie. "Oh yes, I'll tell you." he murmured.

Billie shook his head a little. "Don't say it, man. I mean it." he growled.

"He m..."

"Don't do it..."

Mike's voice dropped to a loud, obvious whisper. "He MATURED."

A collective, fake gasp went up, followed by poorly stifled sniggers. Billie scowled. Mike sat back in his seat, adopting the voice of a cheesy announcer.

"Yes, ladies and gentleman, he has matured, and you all know what that means - he grew up, stopped taking so many risks, stopped having so much fun and - ding ding ding! - got boring!"

"I have fucking not!" Billie exclaimed.

"Dude, you've been going to bed at eleven since the tour started," Tré joined in.

"Yeah, that's because I've had a cold since it started - all of two weeks ago - and it makes me sleepy!"

The gathered burst out laughing, making a blush colour Billie's cheeks, suddenly realising how dumb that just sounded.

"Oh my God! You wuss!" Mike cried. "You'll be wanting a pipe and slippers and some fuckin' Cognac before you go to bed soon!"

"Shut up!" Billie protested, sitting up properly. "I have NOT got boring! I'll go out and...and streak around the parking lot right now if you want!"

"Pfft. Go ahead then," Mike replied, looking complacent.

There was a pause as Billie glanced out the window. "Are you kidding? It's freezing out there!"

Mike grinned and pointed at him, cupping one hand around his mouth and making a noise like a foghorn.

"BOOOOOOOOOORIIIIIIIIING."

"I'd like to see you try it!" Billie countered.

"Oho no, Billie boy - I'M not the one on trial her."

"What trial?! There's no trial! If I go out there, my dick'll shrivel up and fall off!"

Mike chuckled darkly. "Wouldn't make much of a difference..." he murmured before swigging his beer again. A collective 'oooooh' went up, and the spectators turned to Billie for a response. Suddenly it had turned into an episode of Jerry Springer. Billie raised his eyebrows, part-annoyed, part-incredulous.

"Fuck you." he replied, swigging his own beer but keeping his eyes on Mike.

"And now you're getting bitter because you're losing the argument."

"I'm not getting bitter, because there is no argument. Know why? Because I'm right, so it's pointless."

"Just because an argument's pointless doesn't mean it doesn't exist. And besides, no you're not. You've gotten far too mature for the likes of us. You should go join Pink Floyd."

"I haven't fucking matured!" Billie exclaimed, voice now a little strained.

"Yes you have."

"I have not!!"

"Yeeeeeees you have."

"I FUCKIN--" Billie stopped himself, raising his hands. "No, you know what? This is dumb and I'm not gonna play this stupid game anymore."

"Aha!" Mike cried triumphantly. "See! Mature! The immature Bill would've carried on the argument until sun up. But _you're_ wussing out of it. Ha!"

Billie opened his mouth to reply, but could find no further argument. So, instead, he did something pretty childish - he glared hard at Mike once more, then stood up and stormed off. He was jeered loudly by the assembled, all except Mike, who was calling him back, despite the smug grin on his face.

"Oh, come on Bill, don't get all pissy..."

Billie turned around, counting up the group. "Fuck all four of you."

Billie turned and was jeered some more. Mike got up and began following him. Billie scowled, incensed at some of the insults being thrown at him. He whirled around again.

"You wanna see immature, Mike?" he snapped. Looking down, he snatched up the closest thing to hand - a shoe - and threw it at him. It smacked Mike square in the forehead, making him stagger back a step or two.

"Ow!" he said indignantly. He expected an apology, but received nothing, as Billie had already left the bus. Mike frowned and called after him. "Fine, be a fucking child. This doesn't make you any less boring!"

He turned and sat back in his seat, rubbing his head and drinking the rest of his beer. Tré looked out of the window, seeing Billie stalking off into the night. "Maybe we should get him back, we're going to the hotel in half an hour..."

"Ah, if he's gonna sulk about it, let him find his own way there." Mike muttered.

\------------------------------------------------

Billie stopped a little way away, rounding behind a truck so he was out of his bandmates' line of vision. He leaned against the side, folding his arms and scowling.

"How fuckin' dare they," he muttered. "How fuckin' dare HE. I am NOT boring. I'm just kinda...restrained this time around."

But Billie was pretty irritated that he couldn't think of one particularly crazy/dangerous thing he'd done on this tour. Sure, it was only a couple of weeks in, but normally he would've at least got a warning from the arena staff or a bill from the hotel by now. It wasn't even so much that he was losing his reputation, but more that Mike had been picking on him about it. He looked down at his feet and seethed for a little bit. Then...an idea came to him. A pretty darn good one. Good enough to make the corners of his mouth curl up in a devilish smile.

_So he wants excitement, does he..._

_Tomorrow,_ he thought. _I'm gonna go shopping..._

\-------------------------------------------

A whole twenty-four hours later, and Billie stood in front of the mirror in his hotel room. It was one of those faux-glitzy numbers, with white lightbulbs encircling it. He leaned on the dressing table beneath it, leaning towards his reflection and looking himself over. There was just one more thing he had to do. Pulling off the lid of the object held in his hand, he twisted the bottom of it until the jet-black lipstick inside became visible. He squinted at it, slightly apprehensive. He'd had no trouble with the eyeliner and eyeshadow, not even the nail polish...but then again, that was before draining a quarter of a bottle of Southern Comfort. He wasn't drunk, but he was definitely merry. And that wasn't helpful for makeup application. He looked at himself again, trying to decide whether it was better if he didn't bother.

'No...' he thought, reprimanding himself. 'Take a risk. It ain't a huge risk, but it's still a risk all the same.'

He leaned in closer, eyes focussing on his lips. Hi tilted his head up so the light shone just right, and applied the lipstick as best he could.

Once he'd finished, he pressed his lips together and stepped back, admiring himself. The light glinted and glimmered off the red suit he was wearing, dancing in his vision. He swayed a little, hips rocking from side to side. Swinging behind him like a pendulum was the best part of his outfit - the devil's tail.

 _Good. This is good,_ he thought. His eyes raised to the striped mask that was bunched up around his forehead like a headband, slowly pulling it down over his face. Adjusting the eyeholes, he blinked, surprised at how anonymous he looked. Then he snatched up the bottle and tipped it up until the bottom pointed skywards, pouring a good quantity down his throat. He righted the bottle and looked at himself one last time. His black lips curled up into the same devilish smile.

_Go, gadget, go..._

\------------------------------------------

Mike lay dozing on his bed, arms spread out to the side, bored. There had been no sign of Billie all day, and he was starting to feel a little guilty about the whole thing. And a little worried. Where could Billie had gone off to? He couldn't be _that_ pissed, could he? He sighed and grudgingly thought about apologizing. Big baby.

He sat up as a sharp, urgent knock sounded on his door before it swung open. He looked over to see Tré leaning around the corner. "Dude, you gotta see this!" he exclaimed, grinning.

Mike blinked, standing up and looking wary. "Why, what did you do?" he asked apprehensively.

"Nonono, not me!" Tré replied, somehow getting even more excited. "There's some guy downstairs in the kitchen just gone completely nuts! Can't you hear it?"

Mike remained still for a few moments, listening hard. He could hear the faint strains of some classical music, and what sounded like things breaking. Tré was, by now, bouncing up and down in impatience. "Come _on_ , man, you gotta come look!" he insisted, scampering across the room and grabbing Mike by the wrist, dragging him towards the door.

The noise and chaos got louder with every passing second as the two of them hurriedly descended the stairs. By the time they reached the foyer, it was almost deafening. About twenty people, kitchen staff, hotel staff and residents alike, were all gathered by the open double doors leading to the kitchen, all craning for a better view. Some hotel staff were attempting to shoo away the rubberneckers, and sirens could be heard outside. Mike looked upon all this, bewildered. Tré gleefully dragged him closer, pushing through the crowd and peering through the doors.

The classical music - obviously - was coming from the kitchen, being played at an absolutely earbleeding volume from an ancient looking 80s boombox. Mike vaguely recognised it, that big, boomy, apocalyptic sounding one. One To Joy, or something. And adding to the cacophony was the sound of plates shattering against walls, cupboards, doors, everything - all thrown by this 'nuts' guy in a shiny PVC devil suit and striped ski mask. He stood in the middle of the room on the counter top, whirling, swaying, leaping around, never still, hurling plates and dishes in every direction. None of the staff, not even the police, could get any closer to him, thanks to the random, erratic dish-hurling. Each time one shattered, the man grinned wolfishly and span around with a flourish, occasionally bowing.

Tré was giggling like a demon, absolutely in his element. "I wanna go in there, Iwannagointhere!" he exclaimed, bobbing up and down.

Mike grabbed his shoulder. "No!" he exclaimed. "You're not getting into this, you're sure as hell not getting arrested!"

Tré looked extremely disappointed. "I wanna join in," he muttered, pouting.

The two of them were jostled, and Mike was pushed back a little. He craned his head, watching this crazy guy. He never stopped moving, never paused for anything. If he changed direction, he did it with an utter fluidity that defied belief. He was elegant, undulating...and there was a fiery gleam in his wide eyes. A gleam that said he was taking an absolutely shiver-inducing indecent pleasure in all of it. A gleam that also said he was a little bit insane. Mike was unwittingly mesmerised.

Suddenly, the music stopped. And with it, the devil man. He froze exactly where he was, hands in the air like claws, eyes to the ceiling. The gathered were momentarily taken aback, and there was a lull. Then some of them started marching towards him, intent on hauling him out and tossing him into the nearest cop car. Mike felt his arm get grabbed, and a stressed voice reached his ears.

"Sir, you must go back to your room, we've got the situation under control..."

Mike looked around, and as he did, the music suddenly started again. His head snapped around as a completely different song came blaring through, an unmistakable horn intro taking him completely aback. The devil man had straightened up suddenly, making the people advancing on him stop in their tracks, wary.

"House of fucking Pain?" Tré said, incredulous but amused.

Jump Around. Whatta way to follow Beethoven. Fucking Jump Around. And that's exactly what devil man did - started pogoing up and down all over the counter top, arms down by his sides, miraculously managing not to fall off and kill himself. It also make him impossible to catch. The advancing made to grab for him repeatedly, and each time they failed. He bounced out of the way, slowly making his way towards the window. For a heart stopping moment, Mike thought he was going to bounce right through it. He didn't - instead, he bounced from the central counter top to the outer one, stopped right in front of the window and swinging it open, leaping out hands first. Mike was promptly barged out of the way by a number of staff, wanting to get around the back of the hotel to catch the guy who now owed them a substantial amount in damages.

Tré giggled to himself. "What the fuck was _that?!_ he exclaimed gleefully. "That guy was _awesome!_ I hope he shows up again before we leave."

"Right," Mike murmured absently.

The staff had all disappeared, off after their little homewrecker. Suddenly the tape was stopped, making Mike look round. The devil man was there again, having slipped back through the window silently. His finger hovered above the stop button, and he raised his eyes to meet Mike's, lifting an eyebrow and smirking. Mike stared at him, bewildered but inexplicably allured. The devil man lifted up the boombox, resting it on his shoulder, and he bent forward slightly, using his free hand to blow a kiss at Mike before waltzing away, taking himself off through a different set of doors.

\-------------------------------------------

A little while later, the dust had settled and Mike and Tré had been shood back to their respective rooms. Mike shrugged off the whole incident as just another crazy tale to tell in interviews. Tré had decided to surrepticiously steal some of his moves for use at a later date. Mike got back to his room and sat on his bed again. The glint in the devil man's eyes was staying with him for some reason. Like, a beyond mischievous fire that was out for genuine _trouble._ Arrestable, jail-time style trouble. The kind of trouble Mike spent a lifetime stopping Tré from getting into. But on a different person...it was intriguing. Attractive, even. That kind of crazyness with a stranger was enticing. It kinda made Mike wanna go out and get himself a ski mask of his own...

Suddenly his door opened, without a knock. As he looked around, the lights flicked off, plunging him into darkness. He stiffened and looked around, seeing a figure in the doorway, shadow cast out across the carpet. It was still for a moment, then it sauntered on through. The light from the open door gave only a brief black silhouette before disappearing as the door shut. Mike stood up, extremely wary, eyes fixed on the faint outline of the figure. The figure that was gliding towards him, hips swaying with each step. Mike stepped back and spoke.

"Who's that?" he almost growled. "What do you want?"

No reply came forth, only the soft footfalls being offered forth from the stranger. As Mike's eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the devil's tail swinging hypnotically behind the man's legs. Mike nodded in recognition.

"Oh, devil man," he murmured. Mike suddenly remembered how much damage he'd done in the kitchen - there wasn't one plate unbroken by the time he'd finished. Making a quick mental check, Mike realised there were quite a few breakable things in this room that were his. Laptop, mp3 player, coffee mug...as much as he was admittedly intrigued by devil man, he did not want that kind of wanton mass destruction going on in his room, thankyouverymuch. No sir. That, and any damage in his room, HE'D have to pay for...not being his fault, he wasn't keen on the whole idea. He straightened up and tried to make himself as tall and intimidating as possible to this wacko. "This isn't your room, buddy. I think you need to step out."

Devil man didn't respond again. Only continued in that slow, sashaying walk, one hand on hip, head lolling slightly from side to side each step. It was like his whole body was undulating, rippling in some unnoticeable breeze. Mike never took his eyes off him. He stared hard at him.

"I mean it. If you're thinking of wrecking this place, you're gonna have to get past me. I'M not getting arrested," he said, firmly but quietly. "This is your last chance."

Again, nothing. He didn't slow, he didn't stop. Mike balled up a fist and raised it slightly. Once devil man was a few steps away, he shook his head and raised it to head level.

"Last chance," he repeated. A moment passed, and all Mike saw in the faint light was the smile on his face widen. Then, Mike pulled back and swung his fist at him. Devil man fell back a little, and to Mike's surprise, caught his fist, stopping the punch in its tracks and pushed him back with enough force to make him stumble and fall against the wall, all in one neat motion. Mike looked up to see the devil man had stopped. Well, his feet had - his head still swayed from side to side a little. Mike held his breath.

 _Who the fuck_ is _this guy?_

Devil man then started walking again, that liquid walk. He stepped into the light cast through the window, and half his face became illuminated. Mike raised his head, eyes widening a bit.

"Billie?" he murmured in disbelief.

The devil man tilted his head and smiled, black lips curling fiendishly. His eyes shone. Then he shook his head slowly. Mike felt a stab of doubt, but he was sure he recognized those eyes...As the devil man glided closer, holding Mike's gaze hypnotically, the bassist became certain. Devil man was now only a few feet away.

"Billie, what the hell-"

Devil man raised a finger to his lips. "Shh," he whispered. Then when he was right in front of Mike, black painted eyes staring up at him, he pointed to himself. "Fink."

Mike frowned slightly. "Fink?" he echoed in the same hushed tone.

Fink nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to Mike's lips. Then he raised himself up, raising a fingerless-gloved hand and resting it on Mike's cheek, pausing momentarily. Mike didn't move, still mostly wondering what the hell was going on...perhaps he was dreaming right now. Maybe he fell asleep on his bed earlier, and this _Fink_ was some figment of a fractured and hugely overactive imagination. I mean...to create someone like this has got to be at least a little disturbed. Fink's eyes, wide and penetrating, mischievous and deadly serious all in one, once again raised to meet his. He'd stopped swaying. He tilted his head and pressed his lips lightly to Mike's. And Mike didn't resist.

When Fink pulled away, he raised his eyes. Mike looked back in confusion.

"Bill, I don't under--"

"You said you wanted excitement," Fink whispered. Then, a little louder, "Fink. My name...is Fink. Say it with me."

This time, he gently pulled Mike's head down towards him, raising his lips and letting them rest against Mike's. The bassist's breathing became a little shaky, tension hanging thick in the air. He could smell the faint aroma of alcohol from Fink. Still he didn't resist.

"Fink," Fink whispered, moving his mouth against Mike's. He paused for a moment, then repeated the word. This time, Mike said it in unison, lips moving together.

"Fink..."

Fink smiled again, pulling him closer and ensnaring him in a slow kiss. Mike remained still for a moment, feeling Fink's tongue slide without hesitation into his mouth, with the same liquid elegance as his walk. Then his eyes fell shut, utterly unable to resist. He did his best to return the kiss and not break Fink's... _fluidity._ He felt an arm wrap around his waist and pull him forward, Fink stepping backwards but not breaking away. The quiet squeak of the PVC was the only sound that could be heard as Fink stopped, hands drifting between the two extremely close bodies and resting on Mike's belt buckle, undoing it so gently the wearer barely felt it.

The kiss came to a natural end, and Fink leaned back, pressing his lips together. He smirked a little at the black smudges over Mike's lips, then wiped them off with a finger. His eyes dropped to Mike's pants, where his other hand was resting, holding onto the waistband. Mike followed his gaze, and the two stood in silence for a while, just watching. Fink's hands then started moving, slowly and carefully, undoing at first the button and then the zip of those pants. His eyes raised, cautious of any unwillingness on Mike's part. Mike's eyes were still fixed on Fink's hands. Fink waited for a reaction. When none came, he pulled gently at Mike's pants, pulling him back a little further until they were level with the bed.

Mike looked up, glancing between Fink and the bed.

_Something's going to happen tonight. Something crazy and dangerous and exciting...and everything I've been asking of him. So I can't really turn away, can I?_

_Not that I want to anyway..._

Mike pulled free of Fink's grip, sliding onto the bed and pushing himself back until his head rested against the headboard. He raised his eyes to meet Fink's, who looked back for a few moments, before that devilish little smile bloomed on his face. He turned around fully to face Mike, swaying again, just barely. It suddenly struck Mike, looking at this devil man, how amazingly tight those PVC pants were.

Fink was looking at him almost hungrily by now. He raised his hands to chest height, taking hold of one of the fingerless gloves and s-l-o-w-l-y pulling it off. He did the same with the other one, then leaned forward and took hold of the very bottom of the cuffs of Mike's pants, backing away, motion smooth, and pulling them off. Dropping them carelessly on the floor, he then placed his hands on the bed and pulled himself onto it, crawling on his hands in knees towards Mike. Seeing Fink's eyes fixed on him, slowly making his way towards him in a shoulder-rolling crawl, kinda reminded Mike of a panther. A shiny red one.

The he stopped thinking as Fink was upon him, face close, closer...then they were kissing again, Fink on his knees and cupping Mike's face. His hands descended, caressing down Mike's neck, chest and stomach, stopping just below his bellybutton. He broke away from the kiss, dipping in briefly to kiss at the hollow of Mike's throat before retreating, dragging his hands down and peeling off his boxers, discarding them almost with distaste. Fink settled back on his haunches, eyeing Mike's obvious-even-in-the-darkness erection, that smile ever present on his face. He rested his hands on Mike's thighs, gently pushing his legs apart a little and dragging his nails ever-so-lightly along his inner thighs. Mike took a slightly shuddering breath, watching Fink, fascinated.

Fink raised his eyes and locked them with the bassists, bending his head and not looking away. Fink's hands moved to tracing little patterns around the very top of Mike's inner thighs, both an excruciating and exceedingly wonderful sensation. Still, his gaze was locked with Mike's. He bent his head a little more, and Mike could feel his breath drifting over his naked flesh, cooling it momentarily. Mike was almost holding his breath by now. Fink finally broke his gaze and looked down.

"Who am I?" he murmured.

A moments silence as Mike remembers how to breathe.

"You're Fi-- _ohhh!_ "

Mike shuddered, legs trembling, as Fink descended slowly, lips slipping torturously down over his dick. He raised his eyes to the heavens and focussed entirely on that delicious sensation. Slowly, slowly, Fink's mouth enveloped him completely. And, as he began to move back up, Mike felt his tongue swirl and dance, rippling and stroking and everywhere at once. Already Mike's breathing was being expelled in deep gasps. Fink continued this, speed increasing achingly slowly, sometimes pulling away completely and just letting his tongue do the work. _Everything_ about Fink seemed to have a life of it's own, always moving, always dancing or swaying. Even his hands were still trailing around his sensitive inner thighs while his mouth was elsewhere. The light in his eyes, that devil's tail... _his tongue._ Oh God, that tongue should have a fucking monument put up in its name.

As Fink descended again, Mike moaned something indiscernible to his own ears, but whatever it was, it made Fink chuckle low. And THIS made Mike moan even louder. Fink didn't stop, but he looked up, seeing Mike's eyes closed in delight. Fink pulled back a little, then held his tongue still and made this noise.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...."

Mike cursed, long and colourful and nonsensical, head rolling from side to side helplessly. Fink straightened up, crawling back up his body and stroking at his neck, kissing him a few times to get his attention.

"That nice?" he asked between kisses. Mike nodded, trying to become more responsive. Fink then straddled him, his own erection pressing into Mike's and making the taller man moan quietly again.

"Why'd you...stop...?" he asked eventually. Fink continued to kiss him lightly, smiling again.

"You like it?" Fink asked quietly.

Mike panted a little, nodding again. Fink shifted a little, then pressed his hips hard into Mike's, beginning the same undulating, liquid rhythm Mike had come to expect from Fink...and it was _wonderful._ Fink continued kissing him, punctuating each kiss with a grind of the hips, increasing in speed slightly each time.

"You like this?" Fink asked, his own breathing a little laboured now.

"Fuck yes," Mike almost whined.

"Uh-huh? What do you like best?"

"I don't- I don't care..."

 _"Pick one,"_ Fink whispered into Mike's ear with a particularly slow grind. Mike couldn't speak. Fink began kissing at the side of his neck, making him press his head back hard against the headboard. Fink shifted slightly, and they grazed each other particularly hard. For the first time, Fink dropped his head, panting against Mike's neck.

"Oh my God, Mike," he half-moaned, half-breathed.

Mike swallowed, blinking slowly, mind clouded with pleasure. "I like it...when you say that..." he murmured.

Fink paused for a few seconds, regaining his breath, then pulling back and looking down at him. For a few seconds, it seemed like Fink had faltered, leaving Billie underneath, looking at him. Then that sly look came back. He bent down, lips pressing against Mike's jawbone, thrusting his hips into Mike's again.

" _Mike,_ " he breathed. " _Oh, Mike..._ "

Mike cursed quietly again, eyes closing, listening and feeling. The two of them moaned and murmured quietly to each other, two bodies moving together in the darkness for a little while, before Fink stopped and raised himself up a little.

"Are you close?" he whispered.

"You wouldn't believe..." Mike replied quietly, eyes closed still, panting shortly.

Fink crawled down Mike's body again, dragging his nails a little harder down his thighs this time. He breathed briefly over Mike's sorely overheated flesh, ghosting a hand over him. Then he paused and raised his eyes to look at Mike.

"You like excitement?" he asked.

Mike opened his eyes and looked back at him. A tiny little smile crept onto his lips. He nodded.  
Fink dropped his lips and took Mike into his mouth without a moment's more hesitation. Mike arched his back and shuddered, moaning loudly. Fink was fast now, but still beautifully smooth. Mike's gasps became shorter and shorter, a haze slowly coming over him, and his hands rested - not holding - on top of Fink's head. Thoughts were impossible. He just listened to Fink quietly moaning, almost yelping softly. Then...then...

Mike arched hard, shuddering violently and crying out, instinctively burying himself inside Fink's mouth. Pleasure rolled through him with the same rhythm that had characterized the night, the same life and beauty and fluidity. Mike flopped back, muscles temporarily useless. When he was capable of coherent thought, he opened his eyes and looked down.

Fink was gone.

He blinked, hearing the door open. Looking over, Fink stood there, lipstick gone, pulling on his fingerless gloves. Already he was swaying. He licked his lips a little, dropped his head and eyed Mike seductively. He blew a kiss at him and drifted out.

Mike couldn't even move or speak to stop him. He heard the door click shut, then dropped his head back, eyes closing. He let his breathing slow to normal, feeling the sweat dampen his forehead. He lost himself for a while in a post-orgasm bliss, before drifting into the most comfortable sleep he'd had in weeks. Before he did, he vaguely hoped that Fink had had the good grace to hang the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on his doorhandle.

\-------------------------------------------

Next morning, Mike clambered onto the tour bus, looking pretty chipper. He nodded in greeting at Tré, before plopping down at the table and serving himself some coffee. Opposite him sat Billie, who smiled a little at him, returning to the newspaper in front of him. Tré watched them for a little while, pulling out his headphones, until Mike became aware of him.

"What're you staring at?"

Tré shrugged. "Just wondering why you two aren't bitching at each other 'bout two days ago," he said, glancing between them. "You resolve your differences?"

"As much as we could," Billie replied. "Fine, I admit, I'm boring. But I'll try my best to entertain you, seeing as how you're too dull to entertain yourselves."

Tré snorted, not even bothering to argue. He replaced his headphones and continued to read his comic. Mike focussed on his coffee-making, doing his best to not even look vaguely interested in the conversation. He glanced up at Billie, wondering how they were going to play this around everyone. Billie, sensing Mike's eyes on him, sipped at his coffee but didn't look up.

"I think some nights might get a whole lot more interesting now, though," he said casually.

Mike squinted at him a little. Fink and Billie...one and the same. Weird.

"Really?" Mike asked, equally casually.

"Yeah. Maybe now and then, stuck in a hotel..." Billie trailed off, shrugging.

Mike smirked, then laughed a little to himself. He got up to walk past the table. On the way, he patted Billie's shoulder and leaned down close to his ear.

"Maybe you need some interesting inspiration. Maybe one night you'll meet Van Gough."

He continued walking, feeling Billie's eyes on his turned back. Billie frowned a little, a faint smile creeping onto his face.

"Van Gough?"


End file.
